


Impossible Not To Want

by honey_wheeler



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Aunt/Niece Incest, F/F, Horny Teenagers, Secret Relationship, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 20:22:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18836089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: Rhaenys can’t remember when she didn’t love Dany. She’d held her the day she was born, wiped her tears when she was afraid of storms, whispered stories to her in bed when Dany was 10 and learned what pleasure could mean in the same place when Dany was 14. Rhaenys would rather have died than wed her brother Aegon. With Dany, she’d rather die than wed anyone else.Warning: Aunt/Niece incest, underage sex (starting when Dany is 14 and Rhaenys is 17)





	Impossible Not To Want

**Author's Note:**

> For the asoiafrarepairs prompt: Rhaenys Martell Targaryen x Daenerys Targaryen - the dragon queens

It’s not _precisely_ the Targaryen way.

Their family’s history is thick with Targaryens wed to Targaryens, brother and sister, from one generation to the next, so that Rhaenys is often reminded of a string of beads when she looks at their familial lines inked carefully in the Maesters’ tomes. But always brother to sister. Even, once, brother to sister and sister, though brother had remained the center, a man with two wives rather than all three together, which Rhaenys thought was quite a pity to learn about the only intriguing anomaly to all the brother-sister pairs.

There had never been anyone like her and Daenerys, though, aunt and niece in lineage but heart sisters all the same. That suits Rhaenys quite well. She’s always been a bit different.

“What was that Septa Barda always said?” Daenerys asks, her tongue curling pink and sweet on a kittenish yawn. “Following the letter but not the something or another?”

“Spirit,” Rhaenys supplies, propping herself on her elbows to smile down at Dany drowsing in the sun beside her. Her hair is like white gold, her eyes like the mountains that loom hazy in the distance, her body pale and modest like a sylph, everything about her so pleasingly, enticingly unlike Rhaenys’s dark lushness. A gauzy gown covers her but may as well not for how little it conceals. Rhaenys hadn’t even bothered to take it off her earlier; she’d tasted Dany’s nipples through gossamer, feasted on her cunt through wish-thin silk. “We’re the other way around, following the spirit but not the letter.”

“Mmm,” Dany hums, sated, pleasured, content. She lifts one languid arm to stroke her knuckles against Rhaenys’s shoulder. “I like the spirit.”

Rhaenys gasps as Dany’s fingers steal under her arm to stroke her breast and tease the peak into hardness. “As do I,” she chuckles.

Rhaenys can’t remember when she didn’t love Dany. She’d held her the day she was born, wiped her tears when she was afraid of storms, whispered stories to her in bed when Dany was 10 and learned what pleasure could mean in the same place when Dany was 14. Rhaenys would rather have died than wed her brother Aegon. With Dany, she’d rather die than wed anyone else.

Not that they can ever wed. Targaryens may have unorthodox traditions, but marriage is still for the getting of an heir. Dany knows it as well as she, but she’s young still, the cosseted pet, the youngest bird who can stay in the nest a while yet. Rhaenys knows her own time is shorter, that her father entertains more offers for her hand by the day. Some day she’ll be gifted to some man, like gold or cows, as much the dowry as she’ll be the bride. It makes her desperate to think on it, and she pulls Daenerys over her now, urgently, needing to chase away the future by seizing the present.

Daenerys makes a pleased sound and goes willingly. She’s as cosseted in here by Rhaenys as she is out there by the rest of the world, and it suits her all too well. She sits astride Rhaenys, hips moving responsively to Rhaenys’s urgings. The gossamer of her gown is pleasantly frustrating, sometimes amplifying friction as they rub against each other, sometimes dulling it. Dany revels in it; still rocking her hips, she stretches both arms above her head, catching the loose fall of her hair with them and letting it cascade back down around her shoulders. It’s always braided and structured and pinned when they’re outside these rooms, as carefully constructed as the Red Keep itself. Rhaenys takes great pleasure in dismantling it when they’re alone, seeking and finding pins like they’re hidden gems, combing it out with her fingers to fan over Dany’s shoulders and back in shining, silvery ripples. This Dany is only for her eyes to see. This Dany belongs to no one else.

Growing impatient with the impediment of the gown, Rhaenys rolls Dany beneath her in a sudden surge of movement, pushing Dany’s legs up and apart with her own and gathering her gown up at her waist as she does her own. Dany sighs and sprawls back on the pillows, arms flung above her head, the picture of hedonism, like a sleek cat ready to be stroked.

Rhaenys is never one to disappoint her darling girl. 

The first contact is always the best, their bodies sliding hot and slick, the pleasure fresh and shocking for how it should be familiar by now but isn’t. Rhaenys braces her knees on either side of Dany’s hips and leans forward, moving her own hips in earnest, already striving for the first of what she knows will be many peaks. They don’t often do this; it’s so much effort for pleasure that can be achieved more easily otherwise. It’s satisfying in a way nothing else is, though, the feel of Dany’s cunt on hers, the primal sensation of writhing together in the mindless pursuit of the bliss they can only find together.

She peaks wildly with her forehead against Dany’s, Dany’s legs hooked around the back of her thighs. Dany follows more slowly, more easily, eyes closed, lips curved into a lazy smile. She’s good at being cosseted. Some days she doesn’t even move, simply lying back and letting Rhaenys do all the work. “I’m in the line of succession,” Rhaenys had teased her once, “but you act the Queen.”

Rhaenys doesn’t mind. Not even a little.

 _Brothers_ , Rhaenys thinks, when they’re both sated and depleted, Dany snoring lightly – charmingly – with her back to Rhaenys’s front like they’re cutlery in a drawer. They can wed some pair of brothers and make house together, their husbands none the wiser about what their brides do with so much time spent alone, just the two of them.

It’s not the Targaryen way, but that’s never stopped them before.

 

*  
_Title from I Don't Miss It by Tracy K. Smith_


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